


One, Two, Three

by Aviena



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Drinking Games, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviena/pseuds/Aviena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F!SS and Deacon play a drinking game, get a little tipsy and get a little frisky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Three

She was coming down from a hit of Jet the first time she asked about it. Deacon couldn’t stand chem habits. Sure, chems were handy in a tight spot, but they were _messy_. Deacon had seen Jet cravings reduce men to sobbing, shuddering children, and he’d seen Psycho turn them into monsters that frothed at the mouth and screamed for blood. People killed for chems, and they killed because of them. Charmer only ever used them in those do-or-die situations that seemed to follow her around the Commonwealth, but Deacon’s heart ached with every needle that went into her arm and every inhaler that was pressed to her lips.

 

All this meant he was jittery and resentful when she brought it up.

 

“Deacon?” She was lying on her back, legs braced against the wall of their little makeshift hideout. Her hair was splayed out on the floor behind her like a dirty halo, and her eyes were more than a little glazed over. Next time, he’d make sure she didn’t need the Jet. He’d be so prepared that raiders, mutants and even deathclaws would just run and hide, and she wouldn’t need to do any fighting at all. Maybe that creepy mascot head they’d found the other day would do the job.

 

“What’s up?” Deacon shifted uncomfortably. The flat end of a nail in the floorboards was digging into his ass, but if he wriggled away from it splinters in the walls started to scrape at the back of his neck.

 

Charmer was staring at the ceiling as if the rotting wood and rusted tin fascinated her. “When did you start lying like you do?”

 

Deacon frowned at her for a moment, wondering if she was playing with him. Nope. Her eyes swivelled back in his direction, glassy and unfocused, and he suspected the part of her that challenged and goaded just wasn’t in business right now. “Oh, you know. A travelling clown took me under his wing. He taught me to fish, juggle and tie balloon animals, as well. He really was the whole package.”

 

“Really?”

 

Jesus, she really was high. “Absolutely. Getting through his funeral was the toughest thing I’ve ever done. I cried like a baby.”

 

“Huh.” She sounded very thoughtful – but mere moments later those glassy eyes fluttered closed and her breathing slowed. Thank God for that.

 

\---

 

The second time she brought it up, Deacon was nursing a bullet wound to the shoulder. He’d taken it from a raider. He’d done something stupid, so he kind of deserved it. They’d been fighting a group that was well and truly entrenched in a quarry-turned-fortress, and it got a little hairy. Charmer had been reaching for the Jet again, and something in Deacon had just _snapped_.

 

He’d let himself take the bullet and screamed at her for a stimpak, all so she’d put the inhaler away. Yeah. _Stupid_.

 

Charmer was pretty good with a scalpel and tweezers, as it turned out. As soon as the last raider was downed, she’d hustled Deacon into the cover offered by the raiders’ fortified walls. She pushed him up against the nearest concrete barricade, sliced open his shirt and investigated the wound with soft, gentle fingers.

 

“Buy me dinner, first,” Deacon coughed. Charmer rolled her eyes at him. She’d gotten the bullet out easily enough – though sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it hurt – and jabbed him with enough stimpaks to make Deacon’s whole body buzz. Now that they were resting, he felt more than a little sheepish.

 

“Feeling all right?” she asked him. She was reorganising her bag, probably storing the stimpaks somewhere a bit more accessible. Her eyes were bright and clear, though she did still look worried.

 

“Never better. Bring me a deathclaw and I’ll box him.”

 

“Mmhmm.” Charmer leaned back against the wall, one leg stretched out in front of her, and canted her head while she looked him up and down. “Remember that story you told me about the travelling clown that taught you how to lie?”

 

“Yeah.” He sniffed dramatically and dropped his gaze to his hands. “Ugh, sorry. Thinking about him always gets me a little teary-eyed.”

 

“It was total bullshit.”

 

Deacon chuckled. It hurt his shoulder. “You got me. I’m a liar.”

 

“When did you _actually_ start lying like you do? How did you learn to do it?” Charmer’s fixation on the topic was intriguing. It wasn’t as if Charmer was some doe-eyed, gormless bumpkin who let nothing but the truth pass her lips - though she did have pretty eyes. He’d seen her charm her way into good books and purses alike all across the Commonwealth, and it was rarely by telling the truth.

 

“Self-help books, conferences, a few pointers from masters of the craft. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

 

Charmer let her head fall back against the barricade with a _thunk_. “Conferences. Right.”

 

Deacon only grinned at her. The pain in his shoulder was almost completely gone now. Thank God for modern medicine.

 

“Tell you what,” Charmer began, rummaging around in her pack. She retrieved the bottle of vodka they’d found in some old CIT student digs and turned one of those smiles on him: the kind that made knees wobbly and hearts beat faster. “Let’s play a game.”

 

“Uh oh. Is this going to be one of those games that ends with me waking up in an amusement park with no idea where my pants are?” Deacon had never actually played a game like that, but he kind of wanted her to think he had.

 

“Only if you want it to.” She winked at him, the same way that he’d seen her wink at other men when she wanted something, and his stomach did an excited little somersault.

 

“Uh uh. No way. I know that look.” He was proud of the way he managed to keep his tone even. “It’s not gonna work on me, sugar.”

 

Charmer’s answering laugh was like champagne glasses clinking. “Damn. I owe Glory ten caps.”

 

Deacon only grunted in reply. He hoped she and Glory hadn’t _actually_ made a bet on whether she could seduce him. Or at least he thought he did.

 

“So here’s the game,” Charmer continued. “You, me, the vodka and _this_ bottle of...nuka cola?” She pulled an unlabelled bottle out of her bag. It sure looked like nuka cola, so Deacon decided to roll with it. “...are going to get better acquainted.”

 

“Where’s the game part?” Deacon wasn’t going to argue if Charmer wanted to get drunk, but he didn’t start anything without knowing all the rules first.

 

Charmer was already opening the vodka. They didn’t have any mugs, so she dug their only saucepan out of Deacon’s bag and poured the whole lot of it into that. She did the same with the cola, mixed it all together, then poured half of the mixture into the nuka cola bottle and half into the vodka one. She handed one bottle to Deacon, looking as though she thought she’d just earned herself the next Nobel chemistry prize.

 

“I ask you a question. You tell me two lies and a truth. I guess which one the truth is, you take a drink. I get it wrong, I take a drink. Then we swap roles and go again.”

 

Deacon was a little bemused, but he couldn’t keep from grinning back at her. She was infectious like that. “You sneaky little minx. You’re gonna ask me about when I started lying again, aren’t you?”

 

Charmer just winked. Again. It was Deacon’s heart that flip-flopped this time, damn her.

 

Deacon sighed, infusing it with as much of a sense of long-suffering martyrdom as he could. “All right.” He took a swig of his drink. It was pretty awful. Not enough cola. “Let’s do it.”

 

“All _riiiiiight_ ,” Charmer crowed. Deacon noticed she didn’t take a sip of her half of the god awful mixture. She was playing it smart. “How’d you learn to lie so well, partner?”

 

Deacon leaned back and crossed his ankles. If you’re gonna tell a lie – a _good_ lie –you’ve got to look comfortable. But you’ve got to be careful not to look _too_ comfortable, or it’s suddenly obvious that you’re lying. Charmer, though, she was on her guard. She was looking for the lie, so she’d be thinking the same things he was. She’d be wondering whether he’d be one step ahead of her reasoning; whether he’d outfox her by staying one step behind; whether she’d tie herself all up in a tangle of guessing and second-guessing.

 

So Deacon stopped thinking about it, and just owned the moment.

 

“Option one, here we go. I’ve basically been doing it all my life. It’s a personality trait – makes me _me_. When I was a teenager, I used to try out different lies on the pretty girls. Like hey, baby, have you ever dated the last of the Maxson name before? No? Here’s your chance.”

 

Charmer was trying not to laugh. She’d always found him funny. It was one of the things Deacon liked about her.

 

“Option two. I already told you how things were...rough after my wife died. I went a little crazy. Killed most of the UP Deathclaws. Well, I did that by re-infiltrating the group. Put on a whole song and dance about how I’d never realised Barbara was a synth, how I’d been violated, how I could never really trust another person again, and so on. Bit of a trial by fire really hones your speaking skills. They ate it up, took me back, and I took them totally unawares when I blew up their base.”

 

Charmer’s smile was gone, and she looked like she was thinking about taking a swig just for the Dutch courage.

 

“Option three. You might’ve worked out already that we don’t know much about the Railroad before the last decade. Dez is the third alpha dog I’ve followed, now. I started up with the whole disguises and lying thing after the attack on HQ that killed my first alpha, and basically all the other agents that worked with me. Coursers came, they killed lots of people, and I tried to get away with the only package we had at the time. The Coursers found us, but I convinced them that we were _both_ escaped synths. Pretty sure they realised their mistake when they couldn’t find a recall code for me. Bought me enough time to get my ass out of there, though.”

 

Charmer looked at him for a long while, chewing on her lower lip and staring into his eyes so intently that Deacon began to wonder if she was going to have a stroke or something. He started making faces at her just to see a reaction, and she dropped her head into her hands.

 

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Okay. I’m going to say that the truth is option 2.” She waited there like that, head in her hands, for a response.

 

Deacon really drew it out. He was a bit of a bastard that way.

 

“Take a drink,” he finally drawled.

 

Charmer’s head snapped back up immediately. “Oh come on, you expect me to believe you convinced some Coursers you were actually a synth? Don’t they have a fucking database or something?”

 

Deacon smirked. “Rules don’t say I’ve gotta tell you which option the truth actually was!”

 

For a second she got that look on her face that she normally saved for the people she was about to shoot. Then she calmed, sighed quietly, and took a drink.

 

Deacon was rather beginning to like this game. “All right,” he said, not quite rubbing his hands together in glee. “That bet that you made with Glory. Who suggested it and why?”

 

Charmer raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? You sweet on Glory now, Romeo?”

 

“Pretty sure you’ve got to answer my question before you can ask me that.”

 

“Never picked you as a stickler for the rules.”

 

“I am just _full_ of surprises, aren’t I?”

 

“You sure are.” She was looking at him a little _too_ thoughtfully. Deacon took another drink, nevermind the fact that it wasn’t his turn. “And a bit of a boozehound, too. Option one: Glory suggested the bet. We were all at HQ, you were talking to Tom, and she caught me looking at your ass. She bet me I couldn’t tap that.”

 

Deacon nearly choked on his drink, but he kept it together. Just barely.

 

“Two: I suggested it. I saw Glory looking at your ass, and I told her I _was_ going to tap that. She disagreed, so I told her to put her caps where her mouth was.”

 

Deacon was sure his ears must be hot enough now to get her Geiger counter _really_ mad – but at least that one was an obvious lie. Glory, looking at _his_ ass! He did something of a double-take at his own train of thought. He hadn’t automatically discounted the idea of _Charmer_ looking at his ass, now had he?

 

“Three,” Charmer continued, looking more than a little pleased with herself. “The bet was Glory’s idea. She asked me whether I really deserved my codename. I told her I could charm the fur off a Yao Guai, and she said she’d believe that if I could get you out of your pants.”

 

Deacon was finding himself a little relieved that Charmer hadn’t really put a lot of effort into talking him out of those pants, even if they _were_ feeling uncomfortably tight at the moment, because even contemplating the idea was getting him very hot under the collar. He was also quickly coming to the realization that no matter which option turned out to be the truth, he was never going to be able to look Glory in the eye again.

 

Cross out option two immediately. Option three had the ring of truth to it, at least as far as Charmer’s talents and fondness for bragging went. It seemed out of character for Glory to suggest Charmer try to get him in the sack...but seeing as that was an element of _both_ the more likely options, Deacon was just going to have to accept it.

 

So it really came down to what he found more believable: option one, or option three. Did Charmer want him, or did she want a trophy?

 

Shit. Either way, he’d really gotten himself into a situation here.

 

Charmer was watching him the way that a very self-satisfied cat watches the canary it has trapped in its claws. She knew very well the situation she was putting him in, and she was _loving it_.

 

“Option two,” Deacon said.

 

Charmer’s expression was a marvel to watch. Disappointment, surprise, frustration: they all marched across her face in sequence only to collapse upon each other like falling trees.

 

“Yeah,” Deacon said, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “Glory’s always staring. Can’t really blame her though. I’m a real catch.”

 

“Hmph.” Charmer pointed at his bottle imperiously. “Drink.”

 

He did – probably rather more than was strictly necessary. He should have felt at least a little bit triumphant at his masterful little turnabout there, but Deacon couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed an opportunity. Oh well.

 

They went back and forth like that for a while, though with less hard-hitting questions. Charmer asked him a few questions about his youth (largely avoiding the topic of the Deathclaws), his opinions on the other Railroad members and his thoughts on their recent missions. He asked her about pre-war Massachusetts (she’d stopped getting that pained look in her eyes when the topic came up, thank God) and what she thought about her other companions. She managed to ferret out a few of Deacon’s truths, and to feed him a few lies as well. She _actually_ managed to convince him that Cait was her long-lost great niece (four times removed) for a while. She was getting good at this. Or maybe Deacon was just getting really drunk.

 

Deacon was nearing the bottom of his bottle, and every sip added to the warm glow spreading in the pit of his stomach and the pleasant buzz building behind his eyes. Charmer had taken fewer impulsive sips than Deacon, but she was well and truly tipsy as well. At some point she must have scooted closer to him, because her shoulder was now bumping up against his, and every time she gestured with her bottle she came close to smacking him in the face with it – but Deacon wasn’t about to complain.

 

“Mmkay.” Deacon put his bottle down to stop himself taking any more sips not demanded by the game. As soon as one of them was out of alcohol, the game would have to stop, and then they’d probably just go to sleep and he’d never be able to bring himself to broach this particular topic again. “My turn. Back to that bet you made with Glory.”

 

“Please don’t ask me to set you up,” she giggled. “You’re a grown man, Dee. Go and compliment her hair or something.”

 

“ _Hilarious_ , but not what I’m getting at.”

 

“Sure, sure.”

 

Okay. Now or never, Deacon. “I never really believed that you caught Glory looking at my ass.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“So here’s my question.” His throat was suddenly a little scratchy. “Are you, uh, interested in me? “

 

“You’re not really following the rules, there. Can’t be a yes or no question, else I can’t give you three options.”

 

“Never picked you as a stickler for the rules.”

 

“I’m full of surprises.”

 

“I’ll rephrase. What’s the nature of our relationship?” He nudged her playfully with his elbow. He was already running through punch-lines in his head, trying to think of a way to make the banter light-hearted again; to set them back on course for a pleasant and above all _platonic_ end to the evening; to go back to when the conversation had no chance of ending in a rejection.

 

But she was Charmer. She set her own course, most of the time, and if you gave her an opening she was sure as hell going to take it. She turned to look at him. Deacon could see her watching him in his peripheral vision, but he pretended not to. It was easier to stare at the wall opposite and hold his breath while he waited for her response.

 

“One,” she began. Her voice was kind of husky – was he imagining that? “I want you to kiss me.”

 

Wow. Okay.

 

“Two. I want your body touching mine.”

 

Holy hell. Deacon was sure as shit looking at her now. She was closer than he’d thought, right up in his face, all red lips, lowered lashes and dark eyes that he was suddenly sure were going to drown him. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose so faint that he hadn’t ever noticed them before.

 

Deacon was almost afraid to hear what she might say next. What if those last two options were the lies? What if they _weren’t_?

 

“Three.” Charmer seized him by the front of his tattered shirt and pulled him even closer. Her lips brushed against his, and he could taste the vodka on them. Her next words were a whisper. “I want you in all the ways that I can possibly have you.”

 

For maybe the first time in his life, Deacon was speechless.

 

But she was Charmer, and she always knew what to do. She kissed him - and it might have been all the vodka on their breath, but Deacon could have honestly sworn that his tongue was on fire. His lips, as well; his chest, where her soft body pressed against his; his hands, that ached to touch her. But it was a _good_ fire. It burned away the sarcastic one-liner that tried to bubble upwards from that reservoir of insecurity he carried around with him. It gave new life to his limbs when his nervous hands would have otherwise frozen up. He would have bet that Charmer could sense it, too - that she’d see it in his eyes.

 

He’d almost rather suffocate than pull away. “We’re not playing a game anymore, are we?”

 

Charmer’s answering smile was dazzling. “Nah.”

 

Everything about her was dazzling.

 

It had been a very, _very_ long time since Deacon had done anything like this. He’d had sex since Barbara died, sure, but it was always a matter of getting off and getting out. He’d forgotten what it felt like to let someone else hold your heart in their hand while they explored you. He’d forgotten how fucking scary it was. Then Charmer reached down to palm the tent in his trousers, and Deacon just stopped thinking.

 

"You should take your clothes off,” she whispered, planting a kiss on the hinge of his jaw.

 

“ _How To Get Busy 101_ ”, Deacon grunted. “Step one: remove clothes.”

 

Charmer smiled against his stubble and climbed into his lap. “Only if you want to do it right.” Deacon’s head was immediately full of questions about whether Charmer had ever done it _wrong_ \- and if so: how, when and with whom. She was well and truly under his skin. If Deacon was honest with himself, he knew she’d been there for a long time.

 

“Here. I’ll start.” Charmer leaned back and tugged her shirt over her head. Silhouetted against the setting sun, she looked like some sort of goddess. She could’ve been a pre-war perfume advert. Deacon could see it now. _Aphrodite, by liquid nitrogen._

 

Jesus, he couldn’t handle this. So Deacon did what Deacon did best. He talked. “You know, you should think about going shirtless all the time. It’d be one hell of a distraction. I’m very distracted.”

 

“You don’t say?” She was taking her bra off, now, and Deacon thought his eyes might pop out of his head. That would be embarrassing. It was almost a relief when she leaned in for another kiss, gentle fingers cradling his head.

 

The rest of their clothes came off quickly. Charmer quite literally tore Deacon’s shirt off – “It’s already ruined,” she said wickedly – and Deacon was sure he heard one of her metal armguards clatter down to the bottom of the quarry, but the difficulties they’d face in the morning seemed supremely unimportant at the moment. He was so hard he could barely think. Charmer made one of those fantastically appreciative faces when she unzipped him, and that just made him harder. He groaned when she took his cock in her warm, smooth hand and squeezed.

 

“You know, I’d have thought you’d be very talkative in bed,” she told him. She was giving him long, firm strokes now, straddling his legs and bracing herself on his thigh with her free hand. She leaned in close to kiss his neck slowly, passionately. It was that enthusiasm more than anything else that went straight to Deacon’s cock. He tried to chuckle, but what came out was a sort of strangled moan that made Charmer smile into his neck. “But you’ve barely said a word. I like the inarticulate noises, though.”

 

“I’m saving my best lines for later,” Deacon murmured. “You might not have noticed, but I’m a walking, talking repository of sexy one-liners. There’s a bit of Shakespeare in the old noggin’ too.” He slid his hands up her thighs to cup her ass. The sound she made when he squeezed was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. He leaned forward to take one pert, pink nipple into his mouth. Deacon knew he was good at _this_ , and the shuddering breath she took as he grazed his teeth lightly across the sensitive flesh confirmed it.

 

“Why don’t you try me?” she breathed. “You never know – I might hate one-liners. Might be better to find out sooner rather than later.”

 

Deacon pulled back to fix her with his most sceptical of sceptical looks, though it was an effort – Charmer was very, _very_ good with her hands. It was difficult to do anything but writhe and moan in her grip. “Nobody hates one-liners, sugar. They – ah! – they just say they do.”

 

Charmer smiled languorously, circling the head of his member with her thumb, and Deacon’s head fell back against the wall. “Come on. Just one.”

 

He couldn’t think straight with her working his cock like that – and if she kept doing what she was doing for much longer, Deacon was going to come all over her hands like a nervous teenager. “Here’s another idea. How about you lie down so I can do something with my mouth you’ll like even better?”

 

Charmer made an effort to look thoughtful, but the little grin tugging at her lips gave her away. “That was actually pretty good. Looks like I _do_ enjoy one-liners.” She gave his length one last, lingering pull before climbing off his lap, seizing some of their discarded clothing and spreading it out as a make-shift mattress. She clambered atop it to lie there like an empress in her boudoir, her long legs arranged in a way that was somehow both modest and coy and her sun-browned skin almost gleaming in the fading light. She winked slyly to put the finishing touch on her display.

 

Deacon was usually the kind of guy that appreciated subtlety over showmanship. Usually. He stood, kicked his ankles free of his trousers and stalked over to join her, trying to look even half as sexy as she did. She could see the effort he made, he supposed, because she tried to disguise her laughter as a moan.

 

“Laugh it up.” Deacon dropped to his knees in front of her and gently pried her thighs apart. Charmer stopped laughing and bit her lip – evidently this _was_ actually pretty sexy. If he needed any further evidence of her arousal, the wetness that met his first careful touch definitely did the trick. He slid one finger inside her easily and she gasped.

 

“I thought you said you were going to use your mouth.” It was more of a quivering whisper than an actual sentence.

 

Deacon chuckled, gave her clit one quick caress and relished the way she shivered beneath his hand. “Yeah, I did.” Obediently, he ducked his head between her legs. He kissed her inner thigh, first, then dragged his tongue along her outermost folds, stopping just shy of her nub. She moaned again, more breathily than last time, and hooked her legs over his shoulders. He could feel her cross her ankles behind his head, holding him in place. Jesus, it made him _ache_.

 

Maybe that bullet had killed him, and this was the afterlife – just way, _way_ better than Deacon had imagined it might be. If so, he could understand what those Children of Atom were always raving about. If it came to it, he’d definitely be willing to eat a nuke for this.

 

Deacon didn’t hold back. He wanted to _devour_ her. He let his tongue travel along her folds again, slowly and lightly at first, savouring the way she tingled slightly on his tongue, alternating between licking and sucking until her moans and whimpers told him the sensations that really got her going. Charmer gasped and swore under her breath when he pressed his tongue inside her. Deacon didn’t have any hair for her to pull, so she tangled her fingers in her own tresses instead.

 

“You’re so beautiful it’s not fair, sugar,” he murmured against her sex. He could feel her thighs beginning to shake as he resumed his work. Her whimpers turned high-pitched and desperate, and her fingers clutched at Deacon’s scalp like she’d forgotten there was nothing there to hold on to. She came apart under his tongue, shuddering and gasping his name, and _Jesus_ , it felt good to hear that. He wanted so badly to watch her face while she came, but Deacon was all heart: he kept at it, coaxing her through her orgasm until her clenching muscles relaxed and she chuckled breathlessly.

 

He looked up to find Charmer watching him with a satisfied smile and half-lidded eyes. Beside Deacon’s head, her thigh muscles flexed. “I’m thinking about just keeping you down there,” she purred.

 

Deacon could think of worse fates. “You mean _if_ your legs didn’t feel like jelly right now.”

 

She laughed. Deacon didn’t think he’d ever actually heard a songbird, but he imagined they sounded a lot like Charmer’s laughter. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

 

He couldn’t wait any longer. His cock was so hard it almost hurt, and every time he shifted his weight it added to the damp smear across his stomach. Charmer must have known it, because she removed her legs from his shoulders to lean forward, take him by the chin and pull him up for a kiss. She could probably taste herself on his lips. Charmer wound her arms around his neck and Deacon couldn’t help but groan into her mouth as he kissed her, letting his weight bear them both downwards. The groan turned into a muffled shout when she worked her hips against him and used one hand to guide his cock to her entrance.

 

“Come on, Dee. Enough playing.”

 

“Yeah. Definitely.”

 

He slipped inside her with almost no resistance, and _sweet Jesus, Christ almighty_ it felt so _good_. Charmer drew in a sharp, quiet breath, her warmth beckoning him onward and her walls adjusting to his girth as he pressed deeper. Deacon went slowly, though every muscle he had was screaming at him to _do it_ , to let go, to slam into her and keep going until all his lust and desire and stockpiled sexual tension spilled inside her. But he took his time, because it was worth it to watch the way her eyelashes fluttered and her breathing grew shallower with every inch of penetration.

 

There was also the small fact that he loved her. All of her, with everything he had.

 

Charmer let out a little moan when he was fully sheathed inside her. Her hands fluttered at the back of his neck and she pulled him in for another kiss, nipping gently at his lower lip. The taste of vodka on her tongue was suddenly strong again, and Deacon felt a pang of uncertainty like needles under his fingernails. Would she regret this in the morning?

 

“Fuck me, Dee. _Please_.”

 

That didn’t sound like impending regret.

 

Deacon’s next thrust was hard and fast. Charmer arched her back and squealed in delight. “ _Yes_.”

 

Definitely not regret. She held him tighter as he picked up his pace, driving into her with enough force that their makeshift mattress began to break apart beneath them. The sound of slapping skin and their laboured breathing echoed all around. Charmer was moaning in time with the rhythm of Deacon’s thrusts, gasping things like _yes_ and _oh God_ and _Deacon!_ Deacon’s whole body was on fire. He could hardly think, but he _knew_ that this was probably the most real thing he’d ever experienced in his life. No lies, no disguises, no careful self-isolation.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Charmer shrieked when she came, arching right up into him, her walls pulsing around him and her legs shaking. Deacon’s head fell forward onto her shoulder, and he couldn’t have lifted it if he tried. Nothing existed but the woman beneath him and the white-hot pleasure building up at the base of his spine.

 

“You can come inside me,” she whispered in his ear.

 

That tipped him over the edge. He cried out wordlessly, his fingers digging into Charmer’s hips so hard that it must have hurt. She kissed him while he spilled inside her, holding him close and angling her hips upwards to take as much as she could. He didn’t think he’d ever come so hard in his life. Charmer laughed airily as she wriggled out from under him.

 

“We knocked your drink over,” she said, pointing at a broken bottle lying on the ground beside them.

 

“Pretty sure that one’s yours.”

 

“Mmm. Nah.” Charmer stood up and went to retrieve something from across the room, giving Deacon a glimpse of his cum leaking down her thighs. Deacon had to close his eyes. Jesus, that had really happened. He’d just had sex with Charmer. He’d just come inside her.

 

She turned to face him again, an unbroken – and more importantly, unemptied – bottle in hand. “This one’s mine.”

 

This wasn’t exactly the kind of pillow talk Deacon had expected. Charmer came over and sat down in his lap, snuggling against his sweaty chest and silently offering him a sip of her drink. Then again, Deacon thought as he took a swig, maybe this was all they needed.


End file.
